Fracture
by Strix 4
Summary: "Neither of them belong to me anymore, not either set. Because I am a ghost to them, and they are ghosts to me." Stuck in the time between life and death, Spock forgets for a while that he has a place and people he belongs to. They remind him.


A/N: Hi there, Trek Fandom. Big fan of yours. I'm new here. Don't hurt me.

I didn't mean to write this. I put it away on my big pile of ideas, because hey, I have other things I should be working on (sorry, Dailies readers...I'm almost done!). But I sat down today to work on something else, and my brain went, "Sorry, no. You'll be working on this". And then I couldn't stop.

I've seen both the 2009 movie, and TOS, but I'm sure I still took mad crazy liberties. Sorry about that. The idea wouldn't die. And so. I beg you to suspend your disbelief and not scream, "WRONG YOU SUCK AT LIFE AND LIVING" if my story stumbles over canon. I swear I never meant to offend!

I find Spock!prime's position is the reboot-verse horribly sad. That's where this came from, primarily. It gets pretty angsty, people. Just warning you now.

I do not own Star Trek, in any of its variations. No money is being made from the writing of this fic._  
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**Fracture**

_ They are not mine._

_ I know them. Perhaps better than any other being. But they do not belong to me. Not in the way they once did. _

_ Not in the way we all once did. I do not belong to them, either. _

_ Once again, I am foreign. I am alien. But not due to my heritage, this time. I am a shadow. A reflection of a self that is stronger and better suited to this new life. My skin is stamped with the travel marks of time; his is smooth and supple still. _

_ This life, and these people, they do not belong to me. I have known them both already, and so it is not fair to watch them with such desire. _

_ Perhaps it is appropriate then, that my own lifetime has finally reached its limit._

…...

I open my eyes to the bright lights of sickbay, shining above my head. There are machines strapped to my chest, my arms, and a figure sprawled in the chair next to my bed.

"Jim."

But not my Jim. Not _my_ Captain, the one I truthfully still serve, even though time and the fallacies of the human age span have long since parted us.

This boy is just as blinding. But he is so much rougher, so much wilder. The capacity to lead is there, but it is largely untried.

"Spock. How do you feel?"

"I am dying, Jim."

His eyes are blue. They are _different_. And yet, they are also strangely familiar in a way that is admittedly quite painful.

"Yes."

"You intercepted my transmission to Starfleet Command, notifying them of my ailing health. You brought me aboard the Enterprise, from the New Vulcan colony, without permission or consent."

"Yes."

"I find your actions...illogical."

This Jim has a weary smile. He has seen too much already in his young life; his earlier responsibility has not yet settled on him.

"You're going to be fine. Bones is working on a cure."

I am tired, more weary than Jim's smile. The room is spinning gently, distorting Jim's face into something I knew better once.

"Do not let your experience with Nero fool you, Jim. The natural progression of time is not typically something that can be changed."

Jim's glare is stubborn; mutinous. I drift away.

…...

_"It is inaccurate."_

_ "And that bothers you, Mr. Spock?"_

_ Jim is standing at my side. My Jim, the one I truly know, looking as he once did. His hair is brown and his back is strong, and those hazel eyes are warm. My own skin is brittle and paper thin by comparison, but I am unbothered by this. _

_ Together, we are contemplating what should be the bulkhead of corridor Thirty-Two. It is simply...not there. A white space where smooth metal walls should be. When I reach out to examine it, I feel nothing. No mass, nor substance. My fingers pass through it._

_ "Fascinating."_

_ Jim laughs._

_ "If you say so, Commander."_

_ I tuck my hands behind my back and turn to face my old friend. _

_ "You do not find this anomaly strange, Captain? Our past history proves that your reaction to any damage done to the Enterprise was...consistently emotional."_

_ "I might find it strange, Mr. Spock," Jim says, and he sounds amused, as he always did when he understood something I did not. "If I could see what you're looking at. I see the wall, Spock. The ship is solid for me. No gaps."_

_ "Fascinating," I say again. "Why the marked difference in our observations, Captain? Clearly we are studying the same subject."_

_ The Captain shrugs, shoulders loose and relaxed inside his golden-colored command tunic. _

_ "You're not that far along, Spock," he says, as if that explains everything. "You can't see it yet."_

_ I feel my brow furrow in thought. I reach out again, driven by a scientist's desire to understand. There is nothing. Only white space. _

_ I am...distressed. There is a sense of wrongness, in this place where the Captain can see what is obviously there, and should be there, and I cannot. _

_ "Jim," I say, rather urgently. "I find this...most disquieting."_

_ "Hey. Spock, don't worry. Everything is all right, I promise."_

_ And I trust him, because he is my Captain. But the hand that he braces on my upper right bicep in order to offer comfort feels as insubstantial as the wall._

_ Weightless. Without mass._

_ Not there._

_ I feel my throat tighten. My heart begins to beat quite frantically against my side. _

_ Symptoms of hysteria._

_ Fascinating. _

_ "Spock? Spock, listen. It's all right. You're all right, I promise." Jim's eyes are warm and reassuring. And curiously enough, they are filled with the human emotion I have come to recognize as sadness. Strange. "It's okay that you can't see it yet. You don't want to rush this."_

_ He is fading from me. Like the wall. Disappearing into white space. _

_ The rapid rhythm of my heart increases, in both speed and strength._

_ I do not wish him to leave. Not again. _

_ But I am falling away as well. His voice follows me as I detach._

_ "Take the time you have, Spock. Don't rush. That's an order. We can wait."_

…_..._

When I open my eyes again, I am alone. I calculate that I have been unconscious for approximately twelve hours, thirty-four minutes, and fifteen seconds. My throat is dry, and my hands, knotted as they are with age, are struggling to curl into fists.

The remnants of panic. Or perhaps a nightmare.

Jim is no longer occupying the chair by my bedside, but I can hear his voice, coming from a short distance away. He is speaking softly, and with another voice I know just as well, and yet in this place, not at all.

"Bones, please. There has to be a way to fix this."

"I tried, Jim. Everything. I exhausted every avenue, read through every damn green-blooded handbook we have. There's no way to stop the process."

"I don't believe-"

"In no-win scenarios. Yeah. I know, Kid. But this isn't the type of thing that you win or lose. It's, well. It's inevitable."

"But it's not _fair_, Bones. He helped us defeat Nero. He stopped our Spock from leaving. He worked to establish the colony on New Vulcan. And this is what he gets in the end?"

"Even pointy-eared bastards aren't meant to last forever, Jim. Vulcans get old, just like the rest of us. Nothing that we can do now but make him comfortable."

"No. I don't accept that, Bones. There has to be a way to stretch it, to give him more time-"

"Damn it, Kid. I'm a doctor. That doesn't mean I can cure old age."

So familiar. And yet. Still not mine.

Quietly, considerately, I cough. It is impolite to eavesdrop, after all.

The movement causes something inside me to break. One of my ribs, I believe.

I would like to speak to them. To soothe Jim's anxiety, perhaps. He had always been unable to accept the loss of a crewman, or a friend.

But, again, I drift away.

…...

_ "This is what you get, you know. The ultimate curse of having green blood instead of red."_

_ My eyebrow arches. I can feel it. _

_ "Curious, Doctor. Are you suggesting that the longevity of my race is somehow at fault for the current situation?"_

_ We are walking. Towards the turbolift, if I am not mistaken. I am not certain, however, as patches of the floor appear to be nonexistent, and the destination is shrouded in some sort of white mist. _

_ "Course I am, you damn hobgoblin," the doctor says comfortably at my side. "Wouldn't have had to wait for you so long if your ears weren't pointed and your eyebrows were straight."_

_ "Fascinating."_

_ "Although." The doctor's eyes are bright with humor. The rest of his facial indicators express extreme disdain for my person, but his eyes are warm. The way it always is between us. "It's kind of fun to see you looking so wrinkly. Blasted long-lived species; I thought you'd never look older than me."_

_ "I am delighted that my altered appearance brings you joy, Doctor," I say, and he laughs. _

_ The metal floor beneath me is missing. Logically, it should not be stable. I stop walking. _

_ "Still can't see it all, huh?"_

_ There is sympathy hidden inside the doctor's Southern drawl. _

_ "By your words, I can logically assume that you can, as you say, 'see it all'?"_

_ The doctor shrugs._

_ "Sure I can. But I've been here longer, haven't I?"_

_ "Doctor, I admit that I am uncertain as to where 'here' is. Based on the contextual evidence surrounding what I cannot see, I would hypothesize that we are aboard some variation of the Enterprise. But my inability to appropriately process my surroundings make my theory...most bewildered. "_

_ "Don't worry about that. If you can't see it all, then you've got some time yet."_

_ Once again, my heartbeat is elevated. Not enough to warrant panic, like before. But still. I am...agitated._

_ "Doctor. Where is the Captain?"_

_ "I guess you can't see him either, then." The doctor's hand, when he reaches for me, is different than Jim's was before. There is weight to it, but only barely. Like feathers on my shoulder, I desire it to press harder so that I know it is real. "We're all here, Spock. I promise. All around you. Waiting."_

_ I cannot see them. Still, they are ghosts to me. Again, I feel something break inside. But it is not my rib this time. _

_ "Waiting for what, Doctor?"_

_ "Waiting for you to get your green-blooded ass in gear. I won't tell you to hurry it the hell up, Spock. It's your time. But maybe move a little faster. Fighting with just Jim is getting to be pretty damn old."_

…_..._

"I know who you are," Nyota whispers to me, when I regain consciousness once again.

The Captain is not there, and neither is Doctor McCoy, but Nyota is seated by my bedside, hands politely folded.

I try to speak, to answer her declaration, but find that my voice is lost to me. A natural byproduct of the aging process. I have had more time, a great deal more, than my counterpart of this world, to understand and accept my mother's inheritance of human emotions. And so, I feel very little shame in admitting to my resulting struggle and distress.

I am aware that Nyota can read the anxiety in my eyes. She is brilliant in both realities. And she is also aware that I can read the helplessness in hers.

I regret my deteriorated voice even more. I experience a strange desire to ask her if she still sings.

"I can read your mannerisms," she says, because she cannot help me. "They're the same. And the way you speak, the inflections in your voice. Identical."

I nod. No harm in admitting it now. I will not be with them long enough for there to be consequences.

She hesitates, and then she reaches out. Wraps one small hand around mine.

There is tremendous strength there. I know that from memory. But I can barely feel her; loss of sensation is also a part of the aging progression.

"We're shadows to you, aren't we?" she whispers.

Perceptive as always.

Yes.

Precisely.

Neither of them belong to me anymore, not either set. Because I am a ghost to them, and they are ghosts to me.

I drift away as she tells me; "I bet I loved you there, too."

…...

_"Your counterpart is quite fond of mine, Lieutenant."_

_ We are sitting in the Mess Hall, across from each other. The table beneath me is solid, as is the floor. The white spaces in the walls are minimal, comparatively. I am only mildly uneasy here._

_ "Well. I'm fond of you myself, Mr. Spock."_

_ She is smiling at me. Warm and radiant. _

_ "Not as much, I think."_

_ She laughs, a low and throaty sound._

_ "No. Perhaps not. But I might have been, in another life."_

_ "Yes, obviously."_

_ For a moment, there is silence. The floor is firm beneath my feet. Illogically, I am glad of this. _

_ "You're getting closer. Aren't you?"_

_ "I do not understand your question." I give the environment around me a sight-based examination. "But the floor appears to be solid, and the white spaces in the walls are much less than __they were before. I find this...strangely satisfying."_

_ She is weeping when I face her again. _

_ "Lieutenant."_

_ "Oh, I'm sorry." She wipes at her cheeks with small hands. "We've been waiting such a long time. I should be happy, I know."_

_ I do not understand this, either. But I am uncertain how to address it, and so I say nothing._

_ She wipes at her face again, before reaching out those small hands and touching my upturned wrist. I cannot feel the weight of her, not substantially. But I can feel her tears, warm and damp against my skin. This is an improvement; this is tangible. _

_ Her smile is radiant again, even as she continues to weep._

_ "I've missed you, Spock."_

…_..._

I cannot calculate how much time has passed when I wake again. My mind is slow and sluggish, and the numbers run together.

But Nyota is gone, and Jim is by my side once again. If I were inclined to poetic metaphors, I might observe that he closely resembles a person drowning.

"I'm sorry," he says.

I cannot speak to him. My voice will not return to me now that it is lost. But I cannot leave him like this. It is illogical for him to suffer over my fate.

It is difficult to raise my arm off the bed. My basic motor functions have begun to shut down. But Jim seems to understand my purpose, and so I am not without a place to rest it for long. He kneels beside my bed and gently positions my hand in a crude approximation of the melding position. I rearrange my swollen fingers (even Vulcans are not spared the pain of what humans call arthritis) into their proper place, and reach for his mind.

It is dark. Conflicted. Burdened by guilt.

_Old friend. Do not take this upon yourself. It is not your fault. My time here is not infinite. _

Denial. Anger.

_I have already lived this life, Jim. The time you would give me now does not belong to me. You must make your own path, without me there to burden you with shadows of what might have been, what was once. _

Pain. Horrible, desperate pain.

_Do not grieve_, I implore him. _Do not hurt like this. _

But I drift away again before I can properly appease his doubt.

…...

_The Captain has returned. But he is not alone this time. Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov are at his side. _

_ The walls around them are smooth, metallic. Complete. They are solid beneath my questing hand. _

_ "You're doing so well, Spock," Jim says. "Nearly there."_

_ I am...confused. His words are encouraging; sound like praise. But there are...tears in his eyes. _

_ "Captain?"_

_ "You're almost done," Jim says, and it sounds like a promise. "It'll be over soon."_

_ Behind him, Mr. Chekov is weeping as well. Silently. Sadly. _

_ "You know that you can't stay, right?" Jim's voice is thick. Hoarse. I am dismayed. I do not like that this Captain is distressed as well. "Spock. You can't stay with them."_

_ This I know. Because they are shadows. Or I am._

_ "Yes, Captain. I am aware."_

_ "Good. Because we were a flash fire, the lot of us. Meant to burn bright and brilliant when we were together, but always meant to fade to smoke and cinders once our purpose was done." Jim's voice is tight, and his facial indicators and the continued moisture in his eyes seem to suggest that speaking these words is difficult for him. "We were picked to do great things by something bigger. But we're done now. We're memories. And it's their chance to burn."_

_ Mr. Sulu is not weeping. But his dark eyes are steady and deep with sorrow. Jim reaches for me with both hands this time. The weight is still not there. But I can feel the indent of his fingers, wrapped around my arms. _

_ Up close, his eyes appear very bright. A byproduct of the tears._

_ "Time to fade away with us, Spock. We've been waiting."_

…_..._

When I return to consciousness, there are no bright lights, or familiar faces to greet me. My eyesight has abandoned me, along with my voice. The rhythm of my heart against my side is weak, and inside my sluggish brain I know that I have minutes left, at most.

But there is someone there. I can feel him against my skin.

"I apologize for my delayed appearance. I confess that I found your condition...most disquieting."

Logical. Watching yourself expire would be a most unsettling experience.

"You are deep within the deterioration process. Your remaining time is extremely limited."

For a brief moment, I am able to recall amusement. Had my logic always come across so bluntly?

"The Captain is distraught. I felt it wise not to inform him of your impending final moments."

So I was not able to ease Jim's suffering completely. Regret filled my mind, faint but real, before being washed away by the symptoms of my condition.

"Ambassador. Sir. I...regret that I did not come to you when you still retained the power of speech. You advised me once, in a matter of some importance, and thus far I have found your wisdom to be sound. However, I find myself once again, as my human crew mates would say, at a crossroads. You advised me to do what I felt was right, and yet I confess that I do not have enough experience in the subject of emotions in order to discern if my actions were correct. I fear that my presence aboard the Enterprise is not...correct."

I am so much more uncertain in this world. Damaged. Not irreparably so, but enough to make my purpose unclear.

It is not a struggle to move my arm this time. It is an impossibility. I manage a weak twitch of my fingers, but my muscles are diminished and I cannot summon the strength for more.

Fortunately, I appear to understand myself in any reality. There is a brief pause, that seems like an eternity wasted when I have so little time left, and then warm fingers on my face.

"My mind to your mind," he says, and I am no longer alone.

His thoughts are painfully bright and focused in comparison to mine, which are scattered and sluggish. But I know what must be said, because it was said to me.

_You are a flash fire_, I tell him, and I am struck by the strange and sudden urge to _smile_. _You were selected by something bigger to do great things. You were meant to burn bright and brilliant with the people here._ I think I understand now. Jim's tears, and Nyota's, and Mr. Chekov's. _And eventually you will fade away. But you will not...regret it._

For a moment, there is nothing from the painfully focused thoughts invading my own. And then my failing mind is wrapped in a soft sense of wonder.

_A most...satisfactory answer_, my counterpart informs me. _I thank you_.

And again, I take my leave. But this time, I do not drift away.

I am gone.

…...

There are no white spaces here. The walls are smooth. The floor is solid beneath my boots. There is no mist to obscure my vision. Only hard metal beneath my hands and feet.

The route I am walking is familiar. I know where I am going, and I cannot help but quicken my pace in order to get their faster.

Illogical, perhaps. But I walk faster anyway.

The lights on the bridge are bright and welcoming. But not nearly as radiant as their smiles of welcome.

My heart is beating rapidly again. But not as a byproduct of panic this time.

Mr. Scott, Mr. Sulu, and Mr. Chekov say, "Mr. Spock."

Nyota says, "You're here."

Dr. McCoy snorts and says, "Took your damn sweet time, didn't you?"

And Jim. The Captain is rising from his chair. And even the most logical Vulcan would be able to see the joy in his eyes.

"Welcome home, Spock."

Behind my back, my hands are tight. And unlined. My skin is smooth and strong once again, my back straight, my mind sound and sure.

I belong to them again. They see me. I am not surrounded by ghosts any longer.

"Of course, Captain," I say, and if my voice is illogically rough, I find that I do not care. "I am...pleased to be back."

"Finally!" the doctor says, and he is smiling even as he folds his arms in a display of reproof. "We can get out of here. We've been waiting _forever_ for your green-blooded butt, Spock."

"Illogical choice of words, Doctor. I am not an infinite being."

The doctor responds with a rather vulgar word, the rest of the crew laughs, and Nyota's eyes are damp again.

My station is ready. They watch me as I move toward it.

"Do we have a heading, Captain?"

Jim smiles. He comes to stand at my side before answering.

"No, Mr. Spock. But that's all right. We're not burning now."

He puts a hand on my shoulder.

I can feel the weight.

...

_A/N: Hate it? Love it? Want to strangle me Nu!Spock style? If you want, let me know. Happy Reading!_


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